


You've Got Mail

by BluCheeto



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, You've Got Mail (1998)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, Multi, Phasma and Dave Chappelle are equally good wingmen, Slow Burn, You’ve got mail, a masters in English-Lit and a Business degree walk into a bar, love letter to autumn, this fic could also be titled Women Pointing Accusatory Fingers at Kylo’s Chest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:24:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18579118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluCheeto/pseuds/BluCheeto
Summary: Rey Sanders of Resistance Books squares up against business rival and CEO of First Order Pages, Kylo Ren. What neither of them realize is that their rivalry comes second to their anonymous online romances—with each other.A You’ve Got Mail Reylo AU in which Rey is not as delicate as Meg Ryan, Kylo is not as charming as Tom Hanks, but their chemistry (online and off) is just as ridiculous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t seen the 90’s meet-cute classic You’ve Got Mail and are even the tiniest sucker for romcoms…I beg you to try it. It’s the perfect cozy romance, and no one plays a more believable smitten than Tom Hanks does as he’s tucking a sick, red-nosed Meg Ryan into bed. It's just- the ideal AU, if you ask me.

To:  NY152@Forcechat.net  
Re: NY in the Fall

 _It’s getting cold again. A part of me will always hate when it starts to get cold again. I prefer sunny 70’s to 40-degree grey skies. (But I do love the rain. Rain’s one of my favorite looks on New York City.)_  
  
 _Fall here is still so new to me. My early childhood was so barren; all desert gravel and cactuses. There’s so much_ green _here! I’d never seen so much color in my life until I saw Central Park in the fall—real-life magic, this time of year. (Sidenote: I wish I could live in a Central Park tree. Having squirrels for roommates wouldn’t be too bad. They're resourceful. Think they’d share their acorns with me? Think they’d hog the remote and make me do all the dishes?)_  
  
 _Speaking of magic: a stray leaf just landed in my hair as I sit on this park bench writing to you. A little leaf finding a soft place to land after wandering in the wind. I can relate; drifting until I found this City of Dreams—a perfect place to settle._  
  
 _(...That’s a little cheesier than I usually am in our chats, isn’t it? Yikes. Haven’t had my tea, yet, go easy on me.)_  
  
 _As always, splurge on an extra shot of espresso and kiss the pup for me._  
  
 _Yours,_  
Little Leaf

  
  
To:  Shopgirl@Forcechat.net   
Re: Re: NY in the Fall  
  
 _Cheesy, maybe, but ‘Little Leaf’ is cute. Suits you._  
  
 _I’m glad you find joy here, in the fall. I may be biased, having grown up in this city, but I find New York in the fall to be overcrowded and underwhelming. The colors attract too many people. In particular, the insufferably over-caffeinated, neo-hippie blogger-types with phone cameras for eyes who crowd the sidewalks and actually wait for the “walk” sign to light up like the obvious tourists they’re all desperately trying not to look like._

 _But I will give you that Central Park in the fall is unrivaled. Far as fans go, my labradoodle is probably it’s biggest.  
_  
 _(Though I admire your theoretical tenacity, I’m not sure if squirrels would make good roommates—would likely use teeth in lieu of sharing leftovers. Moreover, I think you’d have bigger concerns than a few bellicose squirrels. Just warn me before your big move. I’d hate to come home to an empty inbox, wondering if your new roommates stole your phone, severing our chat. I’d be tempted to seek vengeance on your behalf.)_  
  
 _As always, ignore the assholes like me and put some extra honey in your tea._  
  
 _Faithfully,_  
Bitter NY Local  
  


x

 

_‘Cute. Suits you.’_

Rey had held off reading his reply last night for something to wake up to this morning, and reads the line about a hundred times. She grins into her pillow, spasming under the covers like a giddy child.  
  
There’s a bounce in her step when she makes her way to the nearby coffee house. It's exactly as ‘overcrowded’ as NY152 had so bitterly warned her it would be. Rey isn't bothered--her chilled face is pleasantly warmed by the indoor hustle as she steps up to order her usual. “Grande cinnamon dolce, venti caramel macchiato with soy, tall drip, and a grande citrus defender, extra honey, please, Rose?”  
  
Rey is re-reading the email with pink cheeks when her favorite barista hands her the to-go tray of drinks with a hopeful smile. “Say hi to Finn for me?”  
  
“I’ll send him to say hi himself!”  
  
 _“I love you!”_

  
x  
  


Even the piercing decibel of the barista hollering with one of the customers ahead isn’t enough to darken Kylo’s mood. He may not be a morning person to begin with, but he’d slept well last night, after reading her message.   
  
‘ _As always, splurge on the extra shot of espresso and kiss your pup for me.’_  
  
He stuffs his phone back into his coat pocket as he steps up to order. “Grande two-pump triple mocha.”  

  
x

  
“‘Morning, Poe! Mmm. That breeze smells good .”  
  
The shivering man groans as he stands from the bench in front of the shop. “Glass-half-full kinda morning, is it? Think I missed the memo.” He gestures to his latte with greedy claws. She hands it over and he brings it to his nose. “Mmm. Rose always makes it best.”  
  
Rey hums in agreement as she takes a sip of her tea, lifting the shop gate and unlocking the front door with her other hand. They file into Resistance Books, Rey flipping light switches as a few stray leaves follow them inside on the breeze.  
  
 _‘It’s cute. Suits you.’_  
  
“Alright,” Poe says, shucking his coat. “Who is it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Who’s making you smile like that?”  
  
She huffs. “Can’t just be a ‘glass-half-full kinda morning’?”  
  
He plops his elbows on the counter opposite her, head in his hands.  
  
Rey is refilling the candy jar as he stares. “...Fine,” she relents. “There’s this guy, but it isn’t- serious. We just email. He said something sweet this morning. It’s nothing.”  
  
Poe's smiling wickedly. “Where’d you meet him?”  
  
Rey feels her cheeks heat. “It sounds bad, but...right after Han’s funeral.” Sounds _awful,_ actually, out loud. She’s grateful that Poe doesn’t bat an eye. It is rare, talking about Rey’s ‘romantic life.’ She hasn’t had one since high school, when she and Finn decided dating was silly and they were perfectly happy as platonic soulmates. At age twenty-three, Rey’s romantic ‘history’ is a bit of a sad affair. “I wandered into this subreddit for NY obituaries. He’d left a message on Han’s...on Han’s listing.” Rey clears her throat. “And- we started chatting.”  
  
“About…dead people.”  
  
“About _Han_ and our _mutual_ -  _grieving-._ ” Rey punches his arm between words. Poe leans away, laughing. “Anyway, it went on for a few days, and then we...exchanged forcenet links, and started talking about books and movies, music, what we love and hate about New York. Harmless stuff.” She doesn’t mention the more personal conversations she and NY152 have had over the years; conversations about absent families and difficult childhoods. About frustrations and hardships and how they’d both lost and found themselves in New York City. About the books and authors who’ve saved them along the way, and how writing to each other has helped them heal.  
  
Poe doesn’t need to hear any of _that_.  
  
“Wait, you said- since Han’s funeral? That was _three years_ ago.”  
  
“I know….”  
  
He inhales. Holds it for a second. “That’s a long chat,” he exhales.  
  
“The longest,” Rey concedes.  
  
“Just be careful, kid.” Poe says. “This city’s crawling with creeps.”  
  
Rey gives him a soft smile. Han used to call her ‘kid.’ Han used to call _everyone_ ‘kid’. “Don’t worry. I don’t know his name, or what he does, or where he lives in New York, and he doesn’t know any of that about me. Harmless, I promise.”  
  
Poe hums. “Still.”  
  
“Thank you, _mum_.”  
  
They settle into the rhythm of opening shop. The space isn't big, but it’s well-lit and warm. There’s children’s art littering the walls, faerie lights strung everywhere Rey could reach, and it smells like old parchment and the lavender candles Rey and Leia like to light after-hours.  
  
It’s only been a few minutes, Rey fiddling with the register, when Poe heaves the single most most _dramatic_ sigh.  
  
“What?”  
  
He twists his torso and holds up Finn’s macchiato for her to see. A number is scrawled across the cup in curvy, flirtatious handwriting. There’s even a little heart.  
  
Rey looks at him with pity in her eyes. “You can’t blame her.”  
  
“No, I can’t blame her,” he agrees glumly.  
  
They trade places so she can turn on the twinkly lights in the shop window. “You should probably tell him at some point, or Rose will sweep him off his clumsy feet, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”  
  
Poe responds with great dignity by loudly slurping his latte.    
  
The front bell dings as Clumsy Feet Himself waddles into the shop in a flurry of layers; only his eyes peeking out between the bottom of his beanie and the top of his thoroughly-wrapped scarf.  
  
“‘Morning,” they chime at him. Finn responds with his usual grumbling over the packed subway. He unwraps his scarf and kisses Rey’s cheek, peeking around her for his macchiato. Rey squints suspiciously when she realizes it’s disappeared.  
  
“No coffee?” He sounds absurdly disappointed.  
  
Poe darts out the front door with a broom before Rey can say a word. She pats Finn’s arm, entreating him to visit Rose on his lunch break. He shuffles to the back with a pout. Through the front window, Rey glares at her shameless coworker.  
  
The bell dings again, and Leia Organa’s dry, “party’s arrived!” fills the shop. Rey says “good morning” as Finn grumbles a “g’morn,” and works on fully waking up without his caffeine. “I have good news and bad news,” Leia continues. She and Rey meet at the front register, the former shedding her coat and scarf as Rey slides her her daily drip across the counter. “Bad news is: First Order Pages is opening a few blocks away.”  
  
Rey’s mouth falls open. Poe and Finn, wide-eyed, converge to listen in.  
  
“ _Good_ news is: they suck, and we don’t.”  
  
Rey’s shoulders sag. “Show us.”

 

  
  
  
A short, frigid walk later, the four of them stand elbow-to-elbow on the empty sidewalk kitty-corner to the construction site, hands in their coat pockets, faces grim.     
  
The air is cold enough that there’s a visible puff when Poe snorts. “Corporate leeches.”  
  
“I’m so glad I don’t work for that company anymore,” Finn says.  
  
Leia sighs.  
  
Rey fantasizes about tearing through the plastic curtain that reads ‘construction only’ and vandalizing the place.  
  
But Leia isn’t signing over her shop to a vandal. Rey straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “So they’re big,” she declares. “Who cares. They’re a chain; soulless and impersonal. We have the integrity of a longstanding local business. We have generations-worth of regulars who know what real customer service looks and _feels_ like.”  
  
Finn nods.  
  
“Hear, hear,” Poe declares.

Leia sends the boys back to flip the open sign while she and Rey remain in the early-morning chill, staring up at the offending structure.  
  
“We’ll be fine," Rey says. "Screw the odds.”  
  
It’s something Han used to say. Leia purses her lips and reaches for Rey’s hands without taking her gaze from the hideously colossal site. “I hope so.”  
  
“Resistance Books was built on hope,” Rey reminds her softly.  
  
Leia turns gentle eyes on Rey, rubbing their hands together and soaking up each other’s warmth.  
  
They turn to walk back to the shop, but not before Leia flips the bird at the offending site as Rey kicks a stray soda can at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been suuuuch a timesucker these last few months--I've written roughly 3/4 of it and wanted to wait until I had it totally finished before posting, but then that damn teaser dropped and I was like "fuck it, dude, Reylo is Risen. Now's the time." (I was giddy as a kid on Christmas, watching Rey leap over that tie-fighter. And when Kylo B O D Y S L A M S that knight into the ground? I get hot flashes just thinking about it. Christ, dude, Adam is just- so hot. Lol.) 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Please please pleeeeease let me know what you think in the comments--I know I've slacked on Sun Spots comments, but I want a fresh start at replying to any and all under this fic! <3 HAPPY REYLO-IS-TOTALLY-GON-BE-CANON-COME-DECEMBER, EVERYONE~!


	2. Chapter 2

“The electrical contractor hit a deer last night, so he’s not going to be here until tomorrow. The upstairs shelves will be late because the shipment of pine we ordered has _beetles_ , and we received a fifty thousand dollar ticket for construction workers peeing off the roof,” Phasma cites in her silvery english accent.   
  
“Mm.”   
  
“And I have the stock files you asked for.” Her voice echoes in the chilled, hollow entry space they’re standing in.  
  
He’s staring at the leaves littering what will be the grand stairway.   
  
“Sir.” She tries.   
  
_‘A little leaf finding a soft place to land....’_  
  
“ _Boss_.”  
  
He finally looks at her.   
  
“What the hell has you so happy?” Phasma asks, mock-horrified as they make their way up the stairwell to check out the weekend progress. “Has Armitage resigned?”   
  
“I wish,” Kylo says, mood still relatively light. “Nice to be out of the office, is all.”   
  
Phasma hums. Her phone chimes. “Speak of the red-headed devil.”   
  
“He’s late.”  
  
Her fingers fly across the touch screen. “He says the children's buyer won’t be available another several months after construction finishes.”   
  
And just like that, Kylo’s mood sours. “Of course,” he huffs.   
  
“Don’t worry, sir. The section's inventory staff is nearly fully sorted. I’ll see to it's finishing touches myself if I must.”   
  
Kylo nods.   
  
“I know you’re worried about the local competition,” she continues. Astute as ever. “Don’t be. No one will compete with our discounted prices.”   
  
He shakes his head slightly as he reviews the shipment receipts and arrival dates. “I’m only worried about one.”   
  
“Which?”  
  
“Resistance Books.”   
  
“Mm, the children’s book store,” she nods. “I was in over the weekend for recon. Their selection is...admirable. Astute buyers.”  
  
That snags his attention. He swallows all the questions he wants to ask, first and foremost: _who was at the register?_ He knows the name on the partnership deed has changed—a new signature now sitting beside his outdated birth name. Hux had informed him last year thatLeia had started the process of passing the partnership on. To someone without the names Organa, Solo, or Skywalker.   
  
Kylo wants a name. Wants to know more than anything.  
  
He isn’t sure he could stand knowing.   
  
“It’s an intimate, knowledgeable staff,” he admits. “The owner’s hiring requisites are astronomical. And they have contracts with vintage dealers. Collectors and antique-ers remain loyal customers. We won’t snuff them out with _Harry Potter_ and _Cat In The Hat_.”   
  
“Sir,” Phasma interjects respectfully, “are you certain this children's buyer is necessary when you have such extensive knowledge, yourself? Not to refute your decision--I agree the position still needs filling--but you know children’s shelves better than any expert we’ve been in touch with. Why not personally oversee the section’s staffing and inventory?”   
  
Kylo is abruptly relieved that Phasma doesn’t know his history--where his ‘extensive knowledge’ came from in the first place. He _hates_ that Hux knows. Threatened the weasel to keep it to himself or find another job.   
  
“I know enough,” he concedes as they look out over the painters working below. “But this buyer would provide...peace of mind.”  
  
Phasma nods, accepting his answer. They walk silently for a while longer before she says, “This is the upper west-side. Everyone’s going to hate us.”  
  
“We’ll seduce them,” Kylo assures, eyeing the contractor’s progress with satisfaction. “We have deep couches and legal addictive stimulants.”   
  
Phasma smirks. They make their way back down the staircase. “Shall we go and harass our favorite assets manager?”   
  
Kylo sighs.   
  
“If I manage to turn his face as red as his hair, next drink is on you.”   
  
“Drinks are on you if I get him to shout within the first ten minutes.”   
  
“Too easy,” she chides. “On me if you get him to storm off within the first ten minutes.”   
  
Kylo finally allows himself to smirk. “Cheers.”

 

  
x

 

 

To:  NY152@Forcechat.net    
Re: Baked in HellFire   
  
_I used to think girl scouts were demons, risen from the 3rd circle solely to snatch the souls of anyone too weak to say “no thank you,” or “just one box.” They’re here to lure._   
  
_I left the market with no less than five boxes of samoas and thin mints._ Five _. That’s ten extra pounds of winter insulation that I wasn’t interested in until it was being peddled by pigtails in a tan vest. Devil’s magic, is what that is._   
_  
I couldn’t even wait until I got home. I’m on the bus, four cookies deep._

_Oh my god they’re so good._

_You know what? I’ve change my mind: Samoas can’t possibly be of demonic origin. Samoas are as close to ascension as I may ever get._   
  
_Yours,_ _  
_ Stuffed & Swindled

  
  
  
To:  Shopgirl@Forcechat.net    
Re: King of the ‘Sill   
  
_For the last two weeks, every night, to the hour, the same robin sits on my window sill. And for the last two weeks, every night, my dog loses his goddamn mind. As if, somehow, this four-inch fledgling poses the greatest known threat to our home he’s ever seen._   
_  
Then again, who am I to say this robin isn’t dangerous; maybe it’s a bird-flu carrier, and my poodle'triever can smell it. Maybe it’s radioactive. Particularly prone to pecking. Loud.  
  
Or. This bird has nestled itself on my dog’s favorite window sill, and he’s a territorial old bastard.  _

 _This is why I like dogs more than people: dogs make no sense, and the_ most _sense._   
  
_Faithfully,_   
_Barking Mad_   
  
  
  
  
To:  NY152@Forcechat.net    
Re: Oh No   
  
_Confession: I like_ Emma _._   
  
_I know we’ve talked--at length--about Jane Austen and our mutual unwillingness to revisit her work post-grad, but I actually,_ physically _couldn’t help it. My boss snuck the book in my bag when I wasn’t looking._   
  
_Judge me all you like, I'm really enjoying this one._   
  
_Of all Austen’s romances, I find the Emma/Knightly dynamic one of the more satisfying. Not only have they grown up together, but they’re already like family. Best friends, even! What a juicy scandal for the times; teasing and playing and (gasp)_ communicating _. There’s a kinship between them that transcends romance—as if there is literally no one else in the world either of them could be with but each other.  
  
I'll be honest, that underlying tenderness--that bond--it has me in this book’s clutches._  
  
 _It isn’t a full meal, I know. But still._ Please _read it with me? I want to pick your cynical, broody brain over the literary equivalent of a ripe summer strawberry._   
  
_Yours,_  
 _Happy in Hartfield_  
  
  


  
x   
  
  
  
  
Christ, not _Emma_. His mother’s godforsaken favorite. Kylo feels as if he’s read the book by proxy a thousand times. He’d sworn he’d never read it on principle.     
  
But it’s Shopgirl.  
  
And she’d said ‘please.’  
  
He takes another swig of his Heineken, scratches Chewie behind the ears, and sighs. He dives back into the bookmarked chapter with resigned focus.   
  
  


x

  
  


To:  Shopgirl@Forcechat.net    
Re: Re: Oh No   
  
_Unfortunately, my bitter taste buds have never much cared for the overly-sweet tang of 18th century romance. As you know. But for you, dear shopgirl, I read it. Throw me a parade, please, because it was touch-and-go nearly the entire time. But I will concede this: I didn’t mind Mr. Knightly._   
  
_Though...bland, he is respectable. Firm. “Quintessentially good,” according to Random-Ass Critic Number Three on the back of this edition. And I (reluctantly) agree; Emma is a comparably “fun” Austen heroine. She’s bold and naive and stubborn. But through Knightly’s eyes and the contextual evidence of a lonely childhood, I can better glimpse her appeal._   
  
_Still. No more Austen, I beg you. If we’re going to pick each other’s brain over recent re-reads, please—let us revisit our Brautigan debate. I sustain that his poetry is more affecting than his fiction._   
  
_Faithfully,_  
 _Random-Ass Critic Number Four_  
  
 _P.s. Bold of you to assume "cynical" and "broody" aren't my legal middle names._  
  


  
  


x  
  
  


  
Rey laughs out loud, clutching her phone to her chest during her stroll home.

  
  


x

  
  
  
On his way to the office, Kylo spots a small commotion just outside the local grocery market. He catches a glimpse of pigtails and tan vests.   
  
“Four boxes of Samoas will be twenty dollars, please!”   
  
The corner of his lip twitches.

  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

“No protests. No demonstrations,” Kylo starts.

“The neighborhood doesn’t hate us,” Phasma finishes.  
  
Kylo, Phasma, and Hux are touring the bottom floor of First Order Books on it’s grand opening day. Staffing isn’t at one hundred percent, yet, but Kylo’s pleased by the numbers regardless; crowded cafe, lecture rooms booked, speakers and signings scheduled, and long lines at the registers.    
  
Hux looks pleased, for once, as well. “They’re wondering where we’ve been all these years. How’s the children’s department?”  
  
They climb the winding stairwell to check. “Too soon to tell,” Phasma answers. “School’s not out, and there’s that children’s book store nearby, ‘Resistance Books’-”  
  
Kylo's chief financial advisor bats away the name like it's a pesky gnat. “Not a concern. We’ll crush them.”  
  
  
  
X  
  
  
  
Poe could watch them forever.  
  
“ _Frog and Toad_ books get me every time,” Finn announces. He plucks the paper mache princess hat from Rey’s head after she’s wrapped up Saturday Storytime. He’s fake-sniffling to make a few of the straggling children laugh. “Know why?” He asks them.  
  
Two little girls jump up from the colorful rug to orbit Finn’s legs. “Why?”  
  
“Because I _am_ Toad,” he reveals dramatically.  
  
They smile up at him with gapped teeth and autumn-rosy cheeks. “Who’s your Frog?”  
  
“That would be me,” Rey sighs, equally dramatic. She leans on Finn’s shoulder, the back of her hand resting delicately on her forehead like a true damsel.  
  
Finn nods with mock-severity. “The forever Frog to my Toad.”  
  
The girls snicker and tug on Finn and Rey’s shop aprons as another young regular, Devin, swoops across the reading rug to take Rey’s hand. The little cluster wanders through the shop, browsing titles and pointing at pretty cover art. Saturdays are their busiest of the week; the readings popular with locals and tourists alike.  
  
Poe is smiling behind the front counter as he rings up Devin’s pink-haired grandmother. She follows his line of sight and smiles, too. “This is why Resistance Books is our favorite,” she says, watching her grandson, nestled in Rey’s lap as she reads to him. “There’s no place like it in the city.”  
  
“Thanks, Ms. Holdo. We couldn’t do it without your support. And Devin’s.”  
  
“That First Order Pages opening so close by...I’ll admit, I’m worried.”  
  
“Don’t be.” Poe’s voice is echoed by a second; Leia sweeping out of her office to greet one of her oldest friends. They hug like sisters, eyes sparkling. “Amilyn Holdo,” Leia mock-chides. “Rebels don’t fret-”  
  
Holdo smiles. “We fight.”  
  
Poe watches the ladies take each other’s hands.  
  
“But- Leia…” Holdo trails off. “I attended the gala with the city publisher’s guild-”  
  
Leia huffs, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Stuffy,” she grumbles.  
  
“-And I saw Ben.”  
  
The card in Poe’s hand misses the magstripe by a mile.  
  
Leia stiffens.  
  
Finn, having shuffled behind the counter to stow something away, straightens just behind Poe’s left shoulder. Rey wanders over, too, after Devin's happily nestled in the bean bag chair she’s vacated. She cocks a hip against the counter and crosses her arms. Poe takes a second to recognize the small army they make, standing around Leia.

-Who sighs sadly. “He goes by ‘Kylo’, now….”

“Kylo Ren,” Holdo finishes gravely.    
  
“Who’s ‘Kylo Ren’?” Rey asks quietly. Poe forgets, sometimes, that Leia and Han had never told Rey or Finn about Ben. It’s a well-known trade secret in the book business, but Leia and her husband kept the subject close to the vest.

Holdo shares a sad look with Leia. “He’s the CEO of First Order Pages.”

“C- _O-_ O _,”_ Leia corrects. “He hasn’t legally seized the executive title. Not yet.”

“How do you know that?” Finn asks. There’s no accusation in his voice, but Leia looks exhausted by the question.  
  
Poe hops in before she has to answer. “Boss, if he’s behind the location and construction of that First Order Pages-”  
  
“He is,” Leia sighs. “I knew as soon as I heard.” She looks at Poe with tired eyes. “They’ve been open six days, and we’ve made twelve-hundred dollars less than we had the same week, last year.”  
  
“That could be a fluke, right?”  
  
“First Order is new,” Rey pipes up. “It’s a novelty. Soon as the fanfare dies out, everything’ll go back to normal, right? Remember when Barnes & Noble opened in the Northeast block? We only took a hit for a few weeks before things eventually leveled out. This can’t be _too_ different?"  
  
“But it _is_ different,” Finn says. “Barnes & Noble is across the park. First Order is only a few blocks away, and their children’s section alone is three times the size of Resistance.” Poe often forgets that Finn used to work for First Order--it's a fresh shock to hear the enemy's specs coming from him. “What if we _do_ have to fold?”  
  
“We are not gonna fold.” Poe interjects, more stubborn than confident.  
  
Rey and Finn look to him, and Poe can feel an ache in his chest at the mere thought of it.   
  
The truth is, Resistance Books has been slowly losing money for nearly a decade. The idea of folding...it isn't actually anything new.  Like Ben, Poe had grown up in these stacks; in this shop. He's known the ups and downs of the business since he was a kid; he and Ben naively swearing to do what they could to keep Resistance afloat. Then Ben graduated with an offer from First Order, and tookit. Poe feels the lingering sting of that betrayal as sharply as Leia does, but it isn't as if Ben's decision had much of an effect on the business when the business was already suffering.   
  
He straightens regardless--conscious of Finn and Rey's heavy gazes. He hands Holdo her purchases. “We’ll resist, just like we always do.”  
  
Leia looks over at him with a spark in her eyes. “Rey said the same thing.” She brings her hands up to their cheeks, pinching affectionately. “To war we go.”  
  
  
  
  
x

 

“Don’t be such a _baby_ , Ren. This isn’t one of those things you can just brush aside and hand off to me or Phasma. We’ve exhausted the subject: you can’t officially inherit your grandfather’s empire until you’ve eradicated all other contractual ties. _Period_.”

Kylo is lying on the black leather couch in his penthouse office. The wall to wall windows that overlook the city _had_ been dimmed for his nap, but Hux clearly has a deathwish as he’d blustered in and turned off the dimmers, snatching from Kylo the single most elusive activity in his life: sleep.

If it were any other day, Kylo would be spitting insults and possibly tossing his desk chair at his advisor's head. But it’s a crisp, chilly Saturday morning. His mocha had been perfect. The opening had been a massive success. Birds are chirping. And after having stayed up most of the previous night on Forechat’s instant messenger with Shopgirl, exchanging friendly snipes and music recommendations, Kylo had convinced himself it wasn’t going to be a horrible day.

Hux’s announcement is like a brick to the groin.  

“...Have her fax me the document.”

Even with his arm draped over his eyes, Kylo knows Hux’s face is red; features pinched like a warped radish as he huffs, “You know as well as I do that she won’t settle for a _fax_. She’s refused for the last two _bloody_ years. Organa demands your physical presence, or no deal.”

...What an apocalyptically unpleasant turn of events.

“For chrissakes, Ren, just get it _over with_.”

Kylo pinches his thumb and pointer into the corners of his closed eyes, sighing. “I want to fire you more and more every day.”

Hux merely scoffs, the termite. “You’d be bored to tears, holding interviews for my replacement.”

It’s true. Kylo hates him more for it. “Call my driver,” he grumbles. “And bring me something alcoholic to chug.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reylo MeetCute next chap ~~ uwu


	4. Chapter 4

“Welcome!”

It's been nearly ten years since Kylo's stepped foot in this shop, and yet the first thing he hones in on is that the girl behind the counter has dimples. 

“Hello.” Kylo surreptitiously looks around. He can’t see or hear Dameron or The Traitor—must be off or out. Knowing his mother, she’s scheduled as few of her crew as possible today in preparation for his visit.

The girl behind the counter looks young. Tan. No makeup, either, which is a rarity in the circles Kylo's used to. She doesn't need it--her features are borderline fae; the kind of natural beauty granted solely by good genetics and sunshine. 

She’s sizing him up as well; eyes sliding down his long black Burberry coat and polished Oxfords. “Are you here to browse, collect, or kill time waiting for the bus?” Though less severe than Phasma’s, the british accent still takes him by surprise.  

“I’m looking for Leia.”

He can  _see_ her eyes sharpen. “Personal or business?” 

“Both.” Always both.

Her brows pinch speculatively, but she motions for him to follow her.

The shop is slightly different than he remembers. There’s an obnoxious amount of stringed lights and origami birds. More kids’ art on the walls and decorating the shelves than there used to be. The wall colors have changed. Again. And the floors are hardwood, now. Though even Kylo has to admit that from a business perspective...it’s always been a fitting space for children; bright and welcoming.

-Not unlike his guide. As they weave between shelves, passing a few kids lost in their books, she ruffles their hair and smiles softly. One of the boys grabs the bottom hem of her shirt to ask where a particular series is. She offers Kylo a polite, “excuse me for a second,” and encompasses the chubby little hand with a tenderness Kylo is rarely exposed to.

She rejoins him and gestures towards the back. Kylo could find his way to the office with his eyes closed, but abruptly wishes to cloak any impression of familiarity.  
  
She knocks on the red door at the end of a short hallway. It’s covered in glitter and children’s art. Exactly how he remembers it. Kylo tries not to notice, but as the girl cracks the door open, he can still see the crayon family portrait he’d done himself as a boy. It’s yellowed, the edges torn and tacky from being taped and re-taped, but it’s intact, and exactly where he’d stuck it on the door himself, next to Dameron’s.

“She’s in a phone conference. Might be a few minutes,” the girl says, shutting the door as gently as possible.  
  
Kylo clenches his jaw. Of course she is. Always too busy even when she has appointments to uphold. Being her _only fucking son_ has never changed that.  
  
Dimples registers his rapidly souring mood. “If you don’t mind waiting, mister…?”  
  
"Ben," he blurts. Kylo has no idea why the fuck he says it. Some absurd combination of situational vulnerability and the anomaly of his physical awareness regarding this girl. She nods, blessedly reactionless to the name. “I’ll wait. Thank you, miss….”

She offers a hand. “Rey.” He takes it, catching a warm whiff of lavender. Their eyes catch. He realizes hers are hazel. Long lashes. Freckles. Christ, she is absurdly pretty. “Let me know if I can help you with anything in the meantime.” Her mouth twitches into a smile, as if unable to help it. Kylo feels the atoms in his hand quake, the sensation traveling up his arm like a slow tide of pins and needles. _Dimples_ , he notes again, stupidly.

Maybe he could offer her a job in the children’s section of First Order. If she’s working for his mother, she has all the credentials, and is clearly good with children. The section itself is still unfinished, after all. Staffing in the department has only just begun, he could-

Kylo drops her hand and that ludicrous train of thought before it goes any further. He doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ with him. It has to be this fucking shop. Maybe the leftover buzz from that shot of whiskey, or the pent-up romantic frustration over a certain digital penpal of his.  
  
“Of course,” he says, eager to exit her orbit. He’s met loads of pretty strangers without turning into some hyper-reactional adolescent. He’s a fucking professional. A businessman. One who’s planning to single-handedly destroy this shop. And...by proxy, Rey's job.  
  
She’d hate him if she knew.  
  
She offers him a sweet, parting smile before heading back.  
  
When he turns to wait outside of the office, he finds he regrets not ripping off the bandaid and introducing himself the way he should’ve; CEO of this shop’s worst nightmare. If he had, there would've been no exchanged pleasantries. He’d have no idea that she smells like lavender, or that her eyes are sharp and striking. Or that she takes a child’s hand the way a mother should. He’d be none the wiser. Blissfully villainous, the way he’s meant to be.  
  
He’s here to officially erase his title as Ben Organa-Solo; Resistance Books Partner. He already knows who his mother would prefer to hand it off to, anyway; Dameron’s always been the son she truly wanted.  
  
‘Ben’ was, and remains, an afterthought.   
  
He straightens with vindictive pride at everything he’s achieved in the face of such neglect. At what he’s about to do.  
  
His heart kicks at the familiar sound of a creaking chair. The brass knob turns.  
  
His mother emerges. Her eyes are as depthless as he remembers--her wary frown equally familiar. But it’s been a long time. She’s aged.  
  
“...’Kylo’, is it?” He feels his eye twitch at the dry chiding in her voice already. She gestures him into the office and shuts the door.

  
  
  
x

  
  
Rey can’t help peeking at the back of the shop every few minutes. It’s a slow day, after all; Finn and Poe aren’t working, most kids are in school. She’s bored.  
  
Besides, the man had been so mysterious. So _tall_ . He’d smelled like spice and trees.  
  
Rey sometimes likes to imagine what NY152 looks and smells like. She catches herself imagining that he smells similar; masculine and clean. Maybe he has soft eyes and a low laugh. She wouldn’t mind if he were tall, too...felt kind of nice to stand beside Mister Spicy Evergreen. Made her feel so petite-  
  
“Miss Rey? Where’s the bathroom?”  
  
Rey straightens, smiling. “It’s right back here, Beth.” She steps around the counter and gestures Beth to follow, trying to banish the urge to message her online penpal in the middle of a workday. What would she even say; ‘so what kind of soap do you use’? ‘Do you like spicy cologne’? No. Weird. He’d humor her, too, which is somehow worse.    
  
Rey’s about to make her way back to the front when she hears raised voices, muffled but discernible, from Leia’s office. She knocks on the door. “Everything alright?”  
  
There’s a loud, muffled ‘thud’, and Mysterious Ben rips the door open. Surprised, Rey moves from the doorway as he blusters past, looking furious.  
  
She leans back into the doorway. “Leia?” Her boss is hunched in her chair, looking drained, but otherwise fine as she waves Rey off.  
  
“Sir-” Rey starts, turning to catch him. “Please calm down.” She takes hold of his forearm; a protective reflex. Rey’s had years of practice dealing with angry, oversized men. Only now, she’s strong enough to insist she be listened to. Rey squeezes just tight enough to demand his full attention, hyper-aware of little Beth exiting the bathroom, skirting nervously around them on her way back to the reading corner.     
  
His jaw clenches, left eye twitching. He’s looking at Rey very differently than when he’d come in. But when his eyes catch hers—which are still tracking Beth—he pauses. Long enough for Rey to maintain authority. They lock eyes. “This is a space for children. If you leave, leave quietly. Don’t knock anything over, don’t curse, don’t shout.”  
  
She releases her grip on his arm.  
  
When they’re both outside the front door, Rey’s tongue dries up around any questions she’d had as soon as Ben turns blazing eyes on her. “ _You_ -“ he starts. But he says nothing else; jaw working. Her curiosity flares anew, but he abruptly turns away, whistling for a cab. When one arrives, Rey still dumbstruck by the dramatic flip in character, he turns back just enough to rumble a quick, “sorry for the trouble, _Miss Sanders_ .”  
  
Then he disappears in a blur of yellow.  
  
Rey feels a lingering sense of offense at the way the man had made off. But it’s overshadowed by her confusion, and the realization that she hadn’t told him her last name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha if I've said it once I've said it a hundred times: Kylo Ren didn't just snatch Rey up for the map she'd seen. Kylo Ren snatched Rey up because Kylo Ren took one look at her and went, "how the fuck can I get a minute alone with this pretty girl."  
> AU Kylo is equally hopeless.


	5. Chapter 5

Leia hates when Rey looks at her the way she is now: all genuine, protective concern. She’s the kind of person Leia hates to impose on—the kind who would do anything to fix things she simply can’t. She’s sweet like that.  
  
Her son used to be sweet like that.  
  
“Sit here.”

Rey does, quietly. She’s quieter than anyone Leia knows. Contemplative, too; a good listener. Traits none of the Organa-Solo’s have ever had much a penchant for.

“Do you know who that was?”  
  
Rey shakes her head the tiniest bit, clearly confused. “He told me his name is ‘Ben’?”  
  
That surprises Leia. He hasn’t gone by his birth name in _years_. “That’s how he introduced himself?”  
  
Rey nods.  
  
Leia doesn’t know what to make of that. “Well. That is the name I gave him. Ben Organa-Solo.” Leia leans back in her chair with a sigh. “He goes by ‘Kylo Ren’, now, though.”  
  
“ _Kylo_ _Ren?_ As in-“  
  
“The CEO-to-be of First Order Pages.”  
  
Rey looks thunderstruck. “Your _son?_ That you had with Han? That was- he’s  _Kylo Ren?_ ”  
  
She takes a deep breath in, and a lets a slow breath out. “Yes.”  
  
“...I don’t know what to say.”  
  
Leia puts a hand on Rey’s knee. “Han and I should’ve told you. A long time ago. We consider you family, you know, it’s just- you arrived at a point in our lives when it felt easier not to say.”  
  
“Leia...why was he here?”

  
  
  
X

  
To:  NY152@Forcechat.net   
Re: Time-Out  
  
_You may not hear from me for a few days, and I just wanted to let you know lest you start imagining me dead in the Doughnut Hut on 52nd (my ideal location to perish)._  
  
_There’s been a sort of family emergency, so I’m going offline for a while._

_It’s always weird to go longer than a day or two without talking to you. Kind of hard, to be honest. Maybe I’m just pathetic. Oh well._

_I’ll miss you._

_Yours,_ _  
_ Shopgirl

 

 

X

 

 

 

Kylo had been so sure his week couldn’t get any shittier until he opens his email.  
  
He reads the message three times. If she thinks _she’s_ pathetic, she should see the way he droops in his desk chair, chugging his third heineken of the night as he stares at the words _‘I’ll miss you’_ until they start to blur.  
  
Even Chewie makes a sad little huff.

 

  
To:  Shopgirl@Forcechat.net   
Re: Re: Time-Out  
_  
_ _Then we’re both pathetic; I’ll miss you, too._

 _Hope everything’s alright. Don’t hesitate to message me anyway if you need to fret or vent. I’m here._ _  
_

_Faithfully,_

_NY152_ _  
_

  
  
  
X

 

  
  
“Ackbar’s publisher is throwing him a dinner party. Got great reviews—he’ll be insufferable.”  
  
It’s been a week or so since his last message from Shopgirl. The longest they’ve gone without contact. And Kylo’s mood has plummeted in her absence.

He sinks further into the dark leather couch in his office, trying to pretend he’s gone suddenly deaf.  
  
“It’s tonight, Boss.”  
  
…  
  
“Black tie.”  
  
“...And I’m….”  
  
“You’re going.”  
  
“Fucking hate dinner parties,” he grumbles under his breath. Kylo’s never been an ass-kisser, and that’s all dinner parties in the book world ever are. “Can’t I just donate?”  
  
Phasma shakes her head, taking a seat behind his desk—the sole person in his employ permitted to do so. “You’re already on the list.”  
  
Ackbar is an old family-friend. He’d been at Han’s funeral when Kylo hadn’t. Visited Leia when Kylo didn’t. Has even donated to Resistance Books when Kylo—Forbes’ ‘Multi-Millionaire Book Mogul of NYC’ and ex _co-owner_ of the damned shop—won’t offer so much as a dime.  
  
Suffice to say, his and Ackbar’s circles overlap in all the worst places. He only hopes Leia still loathes these functions as much as she used to, and hasn’t RSVP’d.

“Bazine is attending.”

Ben scoffs. Of course she is. Bloomsbury’s Head of Marketing Bazine Netal  _lives_ to brush elbows with the local elite. She’s the literary equivalent of a foreign spy and would never miss a dinner party; the ideal place to gather intel on friend and foe alike.

“As-”

“Your _date_ , sir. Yes.”

He sighs. Bazine isn’t someone he can afford to snub. She and Kylo have been thrust together on more than one occasion, due to her connections. She’s sharp, lethally beautiful, and one of the best in her business.

She also happens to be a classist snob with a double-edged personality and little interest in the actual literature she so ferociously peddles.  
  
“Why can’t you be my plus-one.” It isn’t even a question. Just a child’s pout wrapped in an adult man’s throaty voice.  
  
“Because I _also_ hate dinner parties,” Phasma says. “Black tie, red accents. Don’t forget.”

 

  
x

 

Finn’s eyes are saucers. “You want _us_ to go? _Why?”_  
  
“I hate dinner parties,” Leia answers with offhanded disgust. “Too much ass-kissing.”  
  
“And you think we’re any good at that?”  
Rey scoffs.

Leia finally turns in her chair to face her befuddled ‘appointed representatives’. “Absolutely not, and that’s why he’ll love you.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Ackbar, of course.”  
  
Rey sputters. “Ackbar? As in Veteran fleet admiral _Gial_ Ackbar?”  
  
“-Renowned author of _The Mon Colomari Fleet: Memoirs of a Rebel Navy Ship_ Gial Ackbar?” Finn chokes.  
  
“He’d be pleased as a peach if he could see your faces now,” Leia smiles. “And that’s precisely why you’re going. You’re the only two I know who didn’t fall asleep within the first three chapters. Ackbar will be thrilled.”  
  
Rey and Finn exchange overwhelmed, open-mouthed glances.  
  
“Don’t get too excited,” Leia laughs. “You’ll be expected to mingle. ‘Ass-kissing’, remember? That’s your job, tonight. There will be publishers and authors and elites dying for a piece in the ‘Times about their ‘generosity’ and ‘kind hearted donations’ towards local and small-businesses. Make no mistake: Resistance Books is by no means above charity, at this point. We need all the support we can get. You two will be pulling up your big-kid pants and playing Corporate Kiss-Ass.”  
  
With every word, Rey and Finn’s delight fades just the slightest, shadowed by intimidation at the task.  
  
“And by ‘big-kid pants’ I mean black tie.”

Rey and Finn glance at each other. Rey isn’t even sure she owns a dress. Her closet is a thrifted cross-breed of athleisure and uni professor. She knows for a fact that Finn’s closet is 75% sneakers.

“And if you don’t have a dress, darling, just say so.” Leia’s eyes twinkle beneath the shop’s holiday lights. “I wouldn’t mind a little shopping spree.”


	6. Chapter 6

He hides when he sees her.  
  
She’s laughing. A little too loud, catching attention as the only real laugh in the room. It’s a girlish, happy sound that seems to encourage Akbar’s eager gesticulation. Even from his place peeking around the Kitchen corner, Kylo can hear that they’re discussing a passage from Ackbar’s book. Which Rey Sanders has clearly _actually_ read. Likely one of maybe four in this room who have.  
  
_“It’s not Poe.”_

 _“Then who? Who’s the sad sack you’ll be shoving this place onto,_ mother? _”_

 _“You just met her,_ Ben _. Rey Sanders.”_

Rey Sanders.

Named co-owner of Resistance Books.

Her name is in the air tonight; everyone who’s met her won’t shut up about her. Everyone who hasn’t met her wants to be introduced. And everyone else is already too drunk to care about their _own_ name.

She’s no longer the pretty stranger with a nice smile, but another sharp-eyed business rival. Who happens to be pretty and have a nice smile.

He shouldn’t be surprised that she’s here with Phasma’s deserter ex-assistant, Finn Storm. Phasma had interrogated the man the day he turned in his resignation letter—discovering he’d taken a job offer from Resistance. Phasma’s taken to calling him ‘The Traitor’. Though the man looks more comfortable standing beside Miss Sanders than he’d ever looked standing in Phasma’s office.  
  
He, Sanders, and Ackbar make an engaging trio—clearly finding something genuine to ground them amidst all the bullshit name-dropping and elbow-rubbing. Sanders and Storm look as if they hadn’t blown a ridiculous amount of their time or money planning their outfits for this get-together, either; instead having dedicated an unforgivable amount to actually reading Akbar’s tedious prose.

Still, Sanders looks- good. She’s in a tight, long-sleeved black shirt tucked seamlessly into an emerald pencil skirt that hugs her hips. Her hair is down, tonight; the slight chestnut waves just shy of kissing her shoulders. The shirt’s wide neckline perfectly showcases her honeyed complexion and delicate collarbones—which he can tell makes her uncomfortable, as she has her arms crossed; wine glass held strategically below her chin. Such self-consciousness is unnecessary. She’s stunning.

Storm touches her elbow when he addresses her. Rey smiles at him, eyes glittering beneath the strings of rafter lights, before answering.

Kylo slides behind one of the cedar pillars at the center of the penthouse and wonders what the hell it is about her that has him slinking around like a pouting schoolboy.

 

X

  
  
Unfortunately, she finds him during the three-second lapse in his attention paid to the Irish whiskey at the bar, and wastes no time with pretty exchanges.  

“Organa-Solo.” She declares. “Your last name is _Organa-Solo_. As in the only child of _Leia Organa_ and _Han Solo_.”

She’s leaning _awfully_ close.

“I didn’t know you worked for ancestry dot com.”

“You-” She seems almost winded. “Why? _Why_ are you First Order Pages when your name is all over Resistance Books? I don’t understand.”

 _Straight to it, then_. Kylo doesn’t lift his eyes from the ice bucket. “Of course you don’t,” his tone isn’t biting, but he knows the words aren’t kind. He plops another sphere of ice in his glass. “It isn’t your place.”

He glances at her in time to catch the flush blooming in her cheeks, expression souring. “You know it is.”

Their eyes finally meet, and it’s as intense as it apparently always is, with her. The short silence that settles over them is filled by the low chatter of the room, but no less tense for it. “Right, my mistake,” he acquiesces. “You’re inheriting that pathetic leaking tugboat, aren’t you?”

“I’m ‘inheriting’ _your mother’s_ store- didn’t you-”  
  
“Know? Of course I did.” _After she told me._ “Doesn’t matter. You’ll fold within the month. Two if you’re lucky.”

“We _won’t_ ,” she fires back. “Resistance Books has a long-standing reputation in the community. It has roots. Deep roots, which you _also_ _know._ Besides-”

“It averages- what, three-hundred-fifty thousand a year?”

“...How-”  
  
“I’m in the book business.”  
  
Her temper flares as if he’s spat gasoline on a flame. “No. _I_ am in the book business. _You_ abandoned your family for money. _You_ are the driving force behind a chain hellbent on destroying a community your mother’s fostered for _years_ .” Her eyes simmer; spitting mad at a man she barely knows- and yet has the gall to poke in the chest. Kylo feels it like a hot spike through his flesh. “ _You,_ ” she enunciates with the gesture, “-are a monster.”  
  
He leans closer to her, boldened by her breach of his personal space. “Yes I am,” he agrees, readily and lowly. Her brows twitch downward, cheeks still ruddy. “So much so that I have in my possession a super-duper secret file of sales figures-” she visibly grinds her teeth and turns to pour _herself_ a glass of whiskey. “-For a bookstore so inconsequential and so far up its own ass, afloat atop name and reputation _alone_ , that I was compelled to rush over and eradicate my name from the deed out of fear that it’ll put my _superstore_ out of business.”  
  
Rey’s wide eyes snap back up to his. She closes her mouth, swallows. He can see...he can tell he’s affected her.  
  
Which doesn’t usually phase Kylo. In fact, it might be the first time in recent history he halts to consider that perhaps he’s said enough. He’s about to- well, apologize, unbelievably, when someone steps to Rey’s side, invading Kylo’s frame of focus.  
  
“Ren.” Finn Storm interrupts. His hand lightly touching Sanders’ elbow. Again.  
  
Kylo straightens to his full height, clenching his jaw. “Storm.”  
  
“How’s it feel to have actual competition, for once? Sweating up there, on your corporate throne?”  
  
Kylo feels a muscle in his cheek twitch. “Traitor.”  
  
“I prefer ‘turncoat’,” Storm smiles, close-lipped. “You know, following my moral compass.”  
  
Kylo glances at Rey when she turns her head to smile proudly at her friend, as if he’s proven some unvoiced point she hadn’t made.

Kylo hums, glances pointedly between the two. “Following something, alright.”  
  
“You’re still out for blood, aren’t you, Ren?” The man shakes his head as he asks, sincerely, “Seriously, how do you sleep at night?”  
  
“Ah, simple,” A smoky-smooth voice interrupts. “I use an over-the-counter drug, ‘Ultra-Dorm’. Half a dose just before lights-out, works like magic.” A pale, graceful hand extends from Kylo’s side towards the traitor. “Bazine Netal, Bloomsbury’s Head of Marketing. Finn Storm, right? You used to work with Kylo and Phasma? She’s a tough one to please! Had high hopes for you, if I remember.”  
  
It’s a smooth interruption, and Kylo takes it as a chance to return his attention to Rey—who is clearly trying to school her irritation with Kylo into polite interest in the newcomer.  
  
Storm shakes Bazine’s hand. “I had high hopes, myself.”

“Well,” she continues, “if you’re ever looking to return to executive work, give me a call.”

Storm looks shocked by the offer. Frankly, so is Kylo. When he chances a glance, Rey looks as if she’s been slapped; visibly heartbroken by the suggestion. Kylo can’t help but watch her face as Storm laughs uncomfortably, thanking Bazine for the aggressive offer.

Kylo starts to steer the businesswoman away—eager to cut off this conversation and the odd sense of guilt settling in his gut at the look on Rey’s face—when Bazine steamrolls over his efforts. “Kylo, darling, we have to seduce him back to the dark side, don’t you agree?”  
  
His eye twitches at the pet-name. He tries to hide his burgeoning annoyance at his Plus-One with a change of topic. “Have you met Rey Sanders-”  
  
“Hi, how are you.” The handshake the women exchange is rushed. “Finn—can I call you Finn?—take my card. Call me _anytime_ , hon.” The brush-off is Classic Netal—blissfully unaware of how rude she’s being. At least Kylo _knows_ he’s an asshole.

Rey looks mystified.  
  
She and Kylo finally drag their respective dinner guests away, exchanging a final, loaded look as they part.

He feels an uninvited warmth in his gut as he realizes, with certainty, that this is not the last he’ll be seeing of Miss Sanders.

 

   
X

 

“You didn’t tell me Finn Storm was going to be there.”  
  
They’re in the back of Bazine’s ridiculous black Rolls-Royce, her chauffeur having offered to drop Kylo off at his apartment. Kylo’s on his phone, pretending to reply to work emails, pointedly remaining silent.  
  
“I mean- can you believe he left a high-standing position in your company for that pathetic shack? I’m still stunned. _Stunned_ .”  
  
Fortunately, Bazine’s attention is also on her phone, so she doesn’t see Kylo’s eye-roll. Usually he finds that he agrees with Netal when it comes to business. Tonight, though, he can’t seem to dislodge the heartbroken look in Sanders’ eyes from his memory—or separate it from the thoughtless comments Bazine had made to Storm right in front of her.

“You hear Phasma talk about him like he’s some traitor, but I think he still has untapped corporate potential. Did you see how well he was working Ackbar? That’s a salesman if I ever saw one.”  
  
Kylo lets her carry on as he drafts an email to Shopgirl.

When they finally reach 152 Riverside Drive and Bazine leans over to kiss him goodnight, Kylo ducks away and out of the car with an awkward, “have a good night.”

   
  
  
X

 

 

“Ow!”  
  
“ _Really,_  Finn?” She thwacks his arm with her clutch again.

“I just took her card!” Finn yelps. “In case you didn’t notice, she practically slit my throat with it!” 

Rey lets out a frustrated cross between a growl and a sigh. 

“Peanut, remember what Leia said? Ass-kissing. It’s what we were there to do, and a marketer for _Bloomsbury-_ ”  
  
“-Is clearly trying to ‘seduce you to the dark side’?” Rey scoffs as they finally emerge from the front doors, back in the crisp night air of the busy city street. She takes a deep breath as they find a blank space in the curbside to hail a cab. “She didn’t even look me in the _eye_ , Finn, that’s how little she cared for any potential ass-kissing.” She crosses her arms to fend off goosebumps and grumbles an additional, “Aside from kissing _yours_ , of course.”  
  
“Hey, hey-” Finn’s voice is as gentle as the frigid breeze tickling Rey’s neck. He starts to shed his blazer. “That marketing lady offered me a card. You gave me a community. Poe, Leia, you, me—we’re a family.” He holds out his blazer for her to step into. “You gave me all _that_. No way I’m trading one for the other.”

Rey’s petulance dissolves. She steps close enough to slide one arm, then the next, into the warm sleeves.

When she’s properly swaddled in her best friend’s lingering body heat, she turns toward him with softer eyes. Sometimes it’s all she can do not to hide Finn someplace the rest of the world can’t try and ‘seduce’ him away from. She settles for a tight embrace, instead. 

“If I sound like a raging asshole,” she says, smacking him lighter with her clutch a final time as they pull apart, for good measure, “it’s because I hate the thought of losing you.”  
  
“Peanut,” Finn says, tone reprimanding, “Resistance Books or no, you’ll never be rid of me.”  
  
Rey tuts, embarrassed and moved.  

 

  
They crash on the couch in Leia’s office like they used to when they were brand new hires working the opening shift together; a heap of limbs, heads at opposite ends. Though tonight—when usually they would both be snoring the way Finn is now—Rey lies awake, eyes on the ceiling as she recalls everything Kylo Ren had said.  
  
_“You’ll fold within the month. Two if you’re lucky.”_  
  
Her tired eyes twitch with irritation.  
  
Suddenly, her phone pings.  
  
Her favorite notification lights up her screen:  
  
Inbox ( **1** ) From: **NY152** .

 

To: Shopgirl@Forcechat.net  
Re: Fuck  
  
_Do you ever feel like the villain in your own story?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Someone provokes you, and instead of taking it with a smile like the hero (alternatively: any rational adult) would, you let all the worst parts of yourself crawl out of your mouth; arrogance, spite, condescension. One goblin after another—somersaulting off your tongue._

 _..._  
  
_I’m sure you, of all people, have no idea what I’m talking about._

 

  
  
  
To: NY152@Forcechat.net  
Re: Re: Fuck  
  
_No, no! I know exactly what you mean and I’m jealous!_ _  
_ _  
_ _What happens to me is that I let the adrenaline drive every sensible reaction and/or reply right out of my brain—every contrary bone in my body instead screaming for a_ fight _. For a_ physical _fight! That can’t be normal! That can’t be healthy! But by the time I’ve managed to control myself enough to fire something back, I blank. I completely blank._  
  
_What should I have said, for example, to an asshole who recently belittled my existence?_

_…_

_Even now, all I want to do is punch him. Nothing fancy, just a clean fist to the face._ _  
_ _  
_ _No matter what happened, though, know this: you aren’t a villain. We’ve picked apart each other through so many highs and lows. I_ know you. _And you’re no villain._

 

To: Shopgirl@Forcechat.net  
Re: Re: Re:  
  
_Though I appreciate (and admire) your forgiving nature, I politely disagree. My fleshy, unedited self is, unfortunately, significantly more villainous than the version you are so often exposed to: faceless, carefully-composed, and (thanks to you) nearly always in a better mood._ _  
_ _  
_ _I envy_ your _reaction; physical violence is so much simpler. Amusing, though, in your case. Not surprising, but amusing. Always knew you had a temper, but “a clean fist to the face”? I have yet to find one thing about you that I cannot appreciate, and even now, I can’t help but laugh at what you worry isn’t “normal”, or “healthy”. I can assure you, your reaction is well-deserved. In fact, if you’d like to break one of our rules and drop the name and address of this asshole, my fists would love to be acquainted with their face._ _  
_ _  
_ _Better yet: wouldn’t it be great if we could swap? I could pass you all my nastiest words, and you could pass me your righteous fists of fury. That way, I’d have a shot at being the hero, and you’d have the chance to play villain._ _  
_ _  
_ _But then I should warn you: given the right moment (or, more accurately, the right person) when you finally have the pleasure of saying exactly what’s on your mind the moment it slithers onto your tongue, remorse will inevitably follow._  
  
_Being the villain, at least in my case, is never as sustainable as it seems._

 

Kylo hesitates, hands hovering over the keys. _I shouldn’t,_ he thinks. _I definitely should not._  


_Speaking of breaking the rules…._  
_Do you think we should...meet?_

 

The text cursor blinks ominously beside the question mark.  
  
Kylo’s gut—still lined with Ackbar’s Irish whiskey—clenches.  
  
He hits ‘send’.

Then he slams his macbook shut.

Sits frozen.

Stares down at it.

Minutes pass before he abruptly ditches his desk chair to toss himself onto his bed, furious with his own impulsive stupidity.  
  
The clack-clack of Chewie’s paws on the hardwood floor filter down the hallway leading to his bedroom, and when the shaggy retriever’s greying chin settles on the thigh Kylo has dangling off the bed, he gestures for the beast to join him atop the mattress. “I’m a fucking idiot, Chew.”  
  
Chewbacca leaps up, curling into Kylo’s left side. He settles and huffs, just once, as if to say, ‘tell me something I don’t know.’ 

  
  
X

 

She sits up, Finn’s legs falling between the couch and Rey’s back. Rey’s read the line- well, she’s stopped counting.  
  
_Do you think we should...meet?_  
  
Her heart feels loud; pounding _hard_ in her chest. Her eyes are wide, her throat tight.

_’Meet’?!_

“Oh my god….” She whispers aloud. 

She shuts off her phone and glances at Finn, wondering how the hell she's supposed to fall sleep _now._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I love romcoms specifically for all the sexually-tense fluff, so I hope y’all are here for that, too 😂


	7. Chapter 7

Kylo doesn’t so much as look at his laptop for the next week. Which is fine timing, because he thinks he might be cursed.

Sanders is _everywhere_.  
  
Apparently, they frequent the same starbucks. And bakery, and market, and even the godforsaken sub shop on Columbus.

Thank God she strides through the cafe doors with headphones in and her eyes on the barista straight ahead, or she might’ve seen him hustle out the same doors from the front nook of the cafe.

He pointedly does not think about the tight athletic-wear she’d been sporting, or the fact that she ties her hair into three buns when out for a morning jog.

 

  
X

 

  
Rey is avoiding her computer like it has a snapping jaw laden with teeth.  
  
It’s been a few days, and she isn’t sure how much longer she can go without talking to NY152.

But it’s also a bright, beautiful Sunday morning. Crisp and chilly; sky a cloudless blue. Rey’s first thought when she steps outside is that it smells like the perfect fall morning for flower shopping.  
  
She calls Jannah, her best girlfriend aside from Rose (their favorite barista who _always_ works weekends, damnit), and the two hail a cab.

Rey loves sunflowers. The one she picks up from the shelf outside of Posies has a course stalk and yellow petals that are blinding in the overbright, 40-degree sunshine. She even catches herself mentally composing an email to NY152 about the perfect city morning: _I would send you a sunflower—hand-picked and sun-scented—if I knew your name and address-_  
  
When suddenly she glimpses _him._

Even out of his usual business suit, she’d recognize that looming frame and heavy gait anywhere.

Kylo Ren, striding down the sidewalk toward them. 

She panics and ducks behind Jannah, grabbing another bouquet, and another, and one more to cover her face.  
  
“Rey, what-”  
  
“Jannah, that’s him, that’s the guy-”  
  
Jannah’s corkscrew curls bounce as her head turns to see. “What ‘guy’? The online one? I thought you didn’t know him-?”  
  
“No, no, not that one, the _other one_ —the horrible First Order dinner party guy who- _shit shit shit_ , he’s coming, he’s coming.”   
  
“Hold up, you can’t mean…” her friend trails off quietly before calling, “ _Ben?_ ”  
  
Rey is stupefied by the name coming out of Jannah’s mouth. She peeks at her through the flowers to ask how the hell she knows when-  
  
“Hello, Jannah.” His voice is stiff. But- _so_ rich. Rey has to admit that his deep baritone is...spine-tingling. “Long time no see.” 

“The fuck are you doin’ in these parts, Solo? Thought you’d gone all ‘Hewlett Bay Park’ on us.”  
  
Rey is still hidden by the bouquets in her hands, but she feels Jannah positioning herself between Rey and the enemy—the enemy who, apparently-  
  
- _Obviously_ , knows Jannah Calrissian.  
  
She is Lando’s daughter, after all. The daughter of Han Solo’s business partner. The same Han Solo who, as Rey just recently discovered, is Ben Solo slash Kylo Ren’s father.

Rey’s unsure whether to reveal herself or not, shaken by the realization that his circle and hers are slowly revealing themselves as, apparently, the _same goddamn circle._  

Kylo grunts, “Houseboat‘s there, not me.”  
  
Jannah’s hand is on her hip. “Couldn’t have parked it any closer to your ‘Uncle Wanwo’?”  
  
Rey snorts a tiny laugh that turns into a sneeze.  
  
“Oh for chrissakes, Rey, you’re giving me hayfever—put those down,” her traitorous friend demands, swatting at the innocent flowers between them.   
  
Flustered, Rey shelves the bouquets and brushes a stray petal from her hair.  
  
“Ben, this is Rey. Rey-”  
  
“We know each other,” she and Kylo interrupt. Simultaneously.  
  
Jannah’s eyebrows do that slow-rise thing. “Clearly.” Her eyes flicker between them with a wicked gleam. “Hear you’ve been bullying my friend here, Solo. Still trying to destroy the small business you were born into?” Jannah doesn’t even wait for a reply. “Tsk tsk, Benny, poor form. She and I were just flower-shopping. Care to join? Maybe make amends?”  
  
Kylo is looking straight at her—Rey can feel it. She sucks in a deep, meditative breath, pressing her lips together to keep her offended disbelief at Jannah’s offer at bay.

“I have a meeting,” he says.

It’s a shit lie; he’s wearing a black t-shirt and joggers that fit him unfairly well, a black and red gym duffel slung over his shoulder, resting between his hip and inner arm.

...Now that Rey’s looking- her eyes snag on the t-shirt. His chest- he has...he does have an impressive width to him. Those short sleeves are hugging his biceps tighter than they have any right to.

...

 _Regardless_ , it’s clear the only ‘meeting’ he’s attending is with dumbbells and a treadmill. 

“Ohh, of _course_ you do, you big busy businessman.” The hand that isn’t on Jannah’s hip reaches up to mime pinching his cheek. 

Rey isn’t surprised by the man’s rebuff; the slight sigh and roll of his eyes as he gently blocks her hand. But she is surprised by the interaction. Rey recognizes tenderness in Jannah’s eyes as she coaxes him into the mild reaction. It’s the same look Finn and Poe have when they tease Rey; familial.  

“Raincheck,” he offers mildly, eyes glancing at Rey, ridiculously, again.

He’s softer here, in this moment. Rey wonders if he isn’t someone wholly different than the one she’d met at Ackbar’s.   
  
“Oh I get it, I get it,” Jannah steps back and reaches to link her arm with Rey’s, winking at her. “You two are business rivals. Fine.” Her head whips back to Kylo, an accusing finger pointed as his chest. “But the next time my old man asks you to stop by for dinner, you say yes. Or my wife and I are kicking down your door and beating your ass.”  
  
It’s so strange, to see Kylo Ren smile. Even as slight a twitch as it is, it’s genuine.

Rey feels- strange, knowing he can smile so sweetly mere days after establishing, in no uncertain terms, that he’s working to put her out of a job within the year. 

“I get it,” he echoes mildly.  
  
“Good.” Jannah’s already dragging Rey back to the flowers. “Later, bookworm. And remember: dinner or death!”

His eyes meet Rey’s one last time in a mutual moment of suspended...something.

Curiosity, maybe.

When he finally turns away, Rey thinks she catches a hint of that spicy tree smell in his wake.

 

“Okay. That was some crazy sexual tension between you and Benny back there. I’ve known him since we were kids and can tell you straight up: I’ve _never_ seen him look at a girl like that.”  
  
Rey’s face still feels hot. “It’s really not like that-”  
  
“Uh, I think the _fuck_ it is. More than half my life, I’ve known Ben! Seen him through his awkward teen years, his first college girlfriend—who was... _so_ mean, by the way, don’t even get me started—even into his twenties...hoo baby.” Her curls bounce again as she shakes her head, hefting a small bag of mulch into their cart. “Nah. Nah, his pupils were  _dilated_ , girl. He could hardly look _away-_ ”  
  
Rey rolls her eyes and checks the price tag on a pretty ceramic pot. “You’re projecting.” Jannah tuts and gives her a Look. “ _Anyway_ , why didn’t you tell me you knew Kylo Ren?”  
  
Jannah makes a face and shrugs. “‘Cus I don’t know any ‘Kylo Ren’s. Sounds like the name of a shitty indie-screamo boybander, if you ask me.”  
  
“Well- _Ben Solo_ , I mean. I told you about him coming to the shop the other day, right? Has he always been so terrible to Leia?”  
  
Her friend sighs. They park their little cart in the succulent greenhouse out back. With the morning light filtering through the frosted glass, the place is a glowing honeydew color. It’s stunning, and yet all Rey can see when she blinks are the soft lines at the edges of Kylo’s eyes when he’d smiled, just the tiniest bit.

It had changed everything about his face.

“To be honest…” Jannah lifts her head to level with Rey. “And you can never tell Leia that I said this. I _love_ that woman. But-” she sighs again. “-She and Han...they were kind of terrible parents, sometimes, too.” She picks up a little Aloe plant. “Just like my dad, they were busy a lot. Business owners, you know? But at least my dad- he got it pretty early on. He made changes. Slowly, but- I started to see more of him. Han and Leia, though...I don’t think they ever found that balance. Between work and family.”  
  
Its uncomfortable to hear, but Rey guesses she isn’t really surprised. “He’s meant to inherit Resistance Books, right? Leia wanted- _still_ wants for him to take over. I just...I don’t understand why he wants to destroy that. Especially if it could be an olive branch between them.”  
  
Jannah shrugs. “I don’t know, baby girl. I’ve never fully understood Ben and why he’s done the things he’s done. And I won’t say I agree with ‘em, neither. I just know the kid he used to be. The kid _I_ used to be: lonely. Hurt. Pissed off.” She shrugs a little. “I love Leia like family, but if she’d been my mom...I don’t know. I don’t know- I would’ve been so sad. My mom was stay-at-home. She was always there for me. But ultimately, Leia’s business was born when Ben was, and I think he’d always felt like he came second to it. Because in some ways...he had. Hell I know _Han_ had felt that way. And knowing him, he took out his marital frustrations the only way he knew how: by leaving. So Ben - shit. He didn’t have _anybody_ , you know?”

Rey doesn’t know what to say, except to sniff, misty-eyed. “No. I didn’t know...any of that.”  
  
Jannah tuts and smiles softly at her. “Leia and Han got more pride than they do sense. Love ‘em to hell and back but that’s just the truth. If they never told you, it’s ‘cus they’re ashamed.”  
  
Rey links her arm with Jannah’s as they stroll back inside. “...I was a lonely kid, too. It’s- damning.”  
  
“Got that right.” Jannah pulls her arm out of Rey’s just so she can wind it around her shoulder and crush her even closer. “So go easy on ‘im, babe. Not Kylo Ren—stick it to his corporate ass. But...Ben. Go easy on Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just go on record saying I think Jannah’s gonna steal the show this December in Rise if Skywalker and I will heretoforward be accepting any and all scraps of information pertaining to both her character and wardrobe with eager impatience. She’s fuckin’ cute, y’all.


	8. Chapter 8

[moodboard](https://spark.adobe.com/post/rO78kHCHhDycS/)  
  
  
  
“Calrissian offered up the auto shop’s garage windows for our promotional sale posters!”

Poe, Finn, and Rey offer a tired cheer in tandem.  
  
It’s after-hours a few days later; the three of them closing up as Leia strides from her office. She’s pulling on her scarf as she walks to the front, where’s Rey’s closing the register. “Sweetheart, would you drop off a poster and some flyers on your way home? Lando’s closing up and says he misses you.”  
  
Rey dimples and takes the stack of flyers from her. “Sure thing.” It’s only been a few weeks since the last time she’s stopped by, but the Calrissians are insistent that they don’t see Rey enough since she’d taken up at Resistance Books. (A false claim; Jannah had crashed on her couch just days ago, after their flower crusade, and ever since Lando’s discovered Snapchat, Rey sees _plenty_ of his jaunty mug. But she doesn’t actually mind.)  
  
“And if you’d be so kind as to remind the old fart that he owes me fifty bucks from our Poker game last weekend, I’ll give you a ten percent cut.”

Rey laughs, nodding. Leia hands her the keys to the shop, waves at the boys, and gestures for Rey to lean over the front counter so she can kiss her cheek. “‘Night, sweetheart.”  
  
As Rey relishes the closing ritual, she finds herself hoping that Leia used to kiss her son goodnight the same way.  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
Just as the ‘Bacca’s Auto front door chimes to signal Rey’s entrance, she inhales a stench so powerfully, _uncomfortably_ familiar that her eyes water with the force of her flashbacks.  
  
 _Cigarette smoke._ Late nights, the thud of boots on creaky floors. Shady deals, dirty money, men arguing. _Rum._  Raised voices, unintelligible slurring. The sluggish growl of a man ten times Rey’s size. _Engine oil._ Mounds of dirt and scattered scraps. Sheets of metal, of rust, of parts that need sorting—that need scavenged.  
  
She remembers her younger body, bruised. Calloused hands. Knees and knuckles scraped, sometimes raw, sometimes bleeding. Clothes that never fit; stained with grease, oil, food. A cot for a bed. A bedroom that felt like a cell. Never enough food. Never enough water. Too hot. Too quiet. Lonely. Miserable.  
  
Rey swallows her panic. She is grown now. She is grown, she is free, and he has no power here. Not in her shop. Not  in her city.  
  
Lando looks openly disgusted by the pale, pudgy man standing across the counter. “Plutt, for the last time, we’re closed-”  
  
“Hush, Calrissian.” Rey feels like she could choke on that familiar odor. “I’m looking for Solo.”  
  
“Han’s been gone three and a half years, you stupid slug.” Lando’s never pulled punches when dealing with irate customers, but he seems particularly hostile towards Plutt; a clear familiarity between the two that takes Rey by surprise.  
  
Plutt just grumbles. “That bastard owed me a car.”  
  
“Han didn’t owe you shit. Now get the hell out of our shop.”  
  
The dots connect themselves.

She’d been stuck in Arizona after Finn had been accepted into NYU. She’d hotwired one of the old junker cars on Plutt’s lot just so she could drive to the big city to see him. Han had found her. Well- he’d found the car. Her car. That had, apparently, been _his_ car, first. A car that Rey’s ex-guardian had somehow acquired at some point between lost and found. The rest is history. 

She’d expected— _hoped_ —that she’d never see Unkar Plutt’s face again. Not since the emancipation was finalized.  
  
It’s jarring when he turns to fully face her. He’s aged; rounder and slower than before. His smile is just as greasy and ingenuine as Rey remembers.  
  
“ _Girl_.” His murky voice crackles around the edges of the word, somehow managing to burn and ooze all at once.  
  
“Plutt.”  
  
He’s sneering at the scarf she has tucked into her thrifted pea coat. Her jeans that aren’t torn at the knees. Shoes that fit her. “I see my scavenger’s ‘moved up’ in the world.”  
  
Rey’s blood goes cold at his phrasing. “I have never been ‘your’ _anything_.”

The door chimes again, distracting them both.

And Rey is certain—absolutely, certain—that the universe is actively shoving her soul into a woodchipper.

Kylo Ren enters the auto shop mere inches behind her. They make immediate eye contact before Rey turns back toward Plutt. She feels the slightest touch of fingers on her lower back to gently suggest she move out of the doorway. She blames her shiver on frayed nerves and the chill spilling through the door as she steps out of his way. But he doesn’t move, having halted behind her.

Lando’s voice breaks the tense moment. “Ben, thank _christ_ \- good timing. Could you show this smelly slab of lard out.” 

Rey is so overwhelmed by this terrible, cosmic summit of her least favorite people held in one of her most sacred, cherished locations, that she just exhales and tells Plutt, “I have nothing to say to you.”  
  
With Kylo still standing too close behind her for comfort, Rey tries to shoulder past Plutt. But just as she’s about to, he has a firm, meaty grip on her arm. She hears his familiar, spitting growl of, “oh, no you don’t.” And suddenly she is four, abandoned and trapped all over again. She thinks she hears Lando say something, but all she can focus on is the dripping gravel of a voice she’s spent the last half-decade trying to banish from between her ears. “ _Just because you’re a city rat now doesn’t change the gutter you crawled out fro-”_

She barely notices the movement until a fist streaks across her focus like a shooting star.

-Finding  _significant_ purchase against Plutt’s face.  
  
Rey startles back. She hears Lando’s footsteps and muttered, “oh hell,” coming closer, until she knows his hand is the one at her elbow, gently tugging her further from the splayed mass on his shop floor.  
  
Her attention rises from the unconscious Plutt to Kylo.

His jawline flexes with the obvious grinding of his teeth; a slight twitch under his eye. He pushes back a lock of hair that had to have fallen into his face with the sudden, momentous force of his _fist_ colliding with Plutt’s _face_.

If it were any other man lying out cold on the floor after grabbing her, Rey would be furious that she hadn’t put him there herself. That she’d given off any impression that she couldn’t defend herself, or that she wasn’t well-acquainted with violence.

But it isn’t just any other man.

And the situation—the strange, fever-dream cast of men surrounding her in this moment—is so thoroughly bizarre that Rey is really only able to stand aside and let them play their parts; Lando Calrissian, her old supervisor, and Kylo Ren, her professional nightmare, dragging Unkar Plutt, Rey’s ex-foster-guardian, past the front desk and out the back of the garage.  
 _  
_“Rey, my dear, please allow Ben and I to take out the trash right quick. Back in a flash.”

The only part of her body that moves is her eyes as they follow the men out.

When they return, Lando approaches Rey with arms wide open—his grin so bright and unbothered that Rey wonders if the last few minutes had even happened. “ _Sunray_ ,” he coos, pulling her into a hug.  
  
She returns the embrace with awkward hands; one still clutching the flyers, the other stiff with lingering shock. “He gone?”  
  
Kylo appears like a shadow in the garage entrance, replies with a low, “he’s gone,” and meanders behind the front desk to take a seat in Lando’s chair.  
  
“So sorry about that, dear. Now I believe you have a poster for me to hang?”  
  
Rey tries to smile but mostly cringes as Lando slides the Resistance Books flyers and rolled-up poster from her hand. With Mister First Order Himself sitting mere feet away, she feels a little embarrassed by the cheesy exchange of promotional ads. Not enough to keep from handing them over with a sheepish nod, but enough that she wishes it had been Poe or Finn sent, instead. Neither of _them_ would’ve stirred shit up with Plutt.  

She’s more embarrassed by the commotion she’d caused than anything else. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Lando-“

“Hey, hey, no apologies out of you,” he soothes. “Plutt an acquaintance of yours?”

Rey glances at Kylo, across the room. His eyes dart away a second too late. “Story for another time,” she offers gently.

Lando doesn’t push, his hand squeezing her shoulder as he smiles in understanding. It feels fatherly and so, _so_ welcome after- everything.  
  
“I’ll stop by again tomorrow, if that’s okay? I’m a little worn out tonight.”

He fake-shoos her away. “Off you go. Posters will be up by the time you’re back.”

 

x

 

“Who the fuck was that.”

Rey had taken exactly five steps out of the auto shop when Kylo darts out after her, apparently deciding that no, in fact, tonight _can_ get worse.  

“Mister Ren,” she says coldly, “I’d rather not do this now.”

“Let me walk you home.”

Her step halts, torso twisting to look at him incredulously. It’s nearly eleven at night on a weekday. They are almost completely alone on the block; standing several feet apart beneath the soft blue glow of the shop’s sign. Rey studies the man’s face for a moment, seeing only what she always sees: his intense focus. On her.

“I don’t- what? Why would you? Why are you even talking to me? You and your girlfriend made your feelings perfectly clear at Ackbar’s dinner party that I’m not worth the attention.”

"That woman is not my girlfriend.” He mashes his lips together again—she’s starting to recognize it as a nervous habit of his. When she makes it clear that she’s still waiting for an explanation, he offers only, “it’s dark out.”

 _Only_ you _would make that sound threatening_ , she resists pointing out. “I’ve walked home in darker. And later at night. Have for years, thank you. Besides, my bus stop is only a block down and across.” She’s about to turn away with little more than a ‘so goodnight’ when their eyes meet. His are so dark. And there’s something in them…something that kicks Rey back a few days; to what Jannah had said. She sighs. “Thank you for stepping in. I had it handled, but tha-“  

“You didn’t. You froze up as soon as he grabbed your arm.”

Rey instantly prickles again. “Even if I did, that’s none of your business-“

“Who is he.”

“I do _not_ have to tell you that. Have a good night.”

“I knocked that man out,” he says to her retreating back. She hadn’t anticipated him following her when she’d whirled away.  
  
“No one _asked_ you to.”  
  
“I’d like to think I did it for a good reason—that he deserved it.”  
  
Rey considers knocking _him_ out; showing Kylo exactly how she would’ve handled herself.  
  
“Sanders, just-“ his low voice curls around Rey’s stomach like the hot, tickling grip of whiskey before bed. She feels the brush of his hand at her elbow; entreating.

Rey stops and turns to him for the third time that night. “ _Fine_ ,” she huffs. “He’s- that man is my old foster guardian. Unkar Plutt. I worked for him before I moved to the city. He was looking for Han. I was looking for Lando. He found Lando. He found me. We’ve never gotten along.” An understatement, but Rey doesn’t want to talk about him any more than she has to. “Happy?”

“Did he ever hit you?”

“Wha- _Kylo-!”_ She can feel her eyes boggle. Rey looks around, as if the old man walking his chihuahua across the street should be just as scandalized by the frank question as she is. “That is _none_ of your business,” she hisses.

“Rey.” Her stomach swoops at the sound of his voice saying her name—it’s the first time she’s heard him say it. “Did. He. Hit. You.”

His voice is robust around the vowels; low and insistent.

Rey openly gapes at him; searches his eyes for answers as to why he— _of all people_ —cares. No one had ever asked her that. And Rey finds herself suddenly wondering—for the first time in her life—whether a part of her had secretly wished someone had. Because hearing it feels...it makes _Rey_ feel-

He stares back; eyes burning. She’s shocked at how much he clearly _does_ care.

Rey clenches her jaw, lets out a slow breath through her nose. “In the interest of thanking you for what you did, and _ending_ this conversation, the answer, Mister Ren, is yes—he deserved it.”

She can’t read the man well enough to tell what he’s thinking. All she has to go on is the twitch at the edge of his eye and nose, and the hardening in his gaze.

Rey, by contrast, feels herself soften. Mostly from fatigue. But also- feeling just the slightest bit relieved at having finally been asked—at having finally answered, in her own way. “I mean it: thank you. I may have frozen up, and I assure you, I would’ve been fine, but-“ she knows what’s about to tumble from her mouth—knows it’s about to slip due to extreme emotional exhaustion, but decides to let it slip, anyway. “It was...satisfying. To watch him drop like that.”

She hears a short, quiet burst from his nose—a not-quite-amused sound. “ _Felt_ satisfying.”

Rey genuinely can’t resist a tired smile in response.

Kylo takes a step closer to her, as if compelled by something outside of himself to do so; his face displaying naked reluctance.

And then—with a movement so deliberate and slow that Rey looks from his hand to his face twice before it reaches the stray lock of hair that’s fallen from her messy bun—he tucks a chestnut strand behind her ear. She can feel the slightest tremor in his massive hand as he does it; the pads of his fingers a hot, featherlight scratch against her cold cheeks.

Her heart stutters, and when her eyes find his again-

She thinks they might be _Ben's_ eyes.

“Number 12?”

She’s so caught up in the lingering tickle on her cheek and the amber ring around his pupils that her brilliant reply is nothing but a breathy, “what?”

“That your bus?” He doesn’t look away from her as he nods over her shoulder.

“Oh,” Rey turns with her heart jammed between her lungs. “Yes-“

“Have a safe ride home, Miss Sanders. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
And with that, Kylo Ren walks away, melting into the city shadows.  
  
  
  
  
It isn’t until Rey is seated at the back of the empty bus that she scrunches up her face and mouths to herself, “‘See me tomorrow’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a real sucker for Kylo/Plutt meetings. I especially like the ones where the asshole gets what he deserves for having put Rey to work when she was fuCKING SIX YEARS OLD.


	9. Chapter 9

He receives a call on his way home from Bacca’s Auto. The police have Plutt safely in custody, and are planning to ship him back where he belongs: the hell away from here.  
  
Kylo's still reeling.  
  
Not from the altercation with Plutt—socking that bastard had felt as natural as tossing back a shot. But from Ms’ Sanders’; seeing her in his father’s shop, and the terror in those hazel eyes when Plutt seized her arm.  
  
After letting Chewie out before bed, Kylo settles at his desk a little after midnight with a Heineken and another gnawing thought.  
  
Plutt. _Unkar Plutt._  
  
He knows he’s seen that name before. Not in his father’s shop. Not from Han, or Lando. He’s _seen_ it. Written.  
  
On impulse, he opens his folder of saved emails from Shopgirl; the only emails he’s ever cared to keep, re-read and remember are hers.  
  
He opens the file and types ‘Unkar Plutt’ into the keyword search bar.  
  
His heart seizes in his chest when three threads pop up; the name bolded in the email preview.  
  
Eyes riveted and hand trembling, Kylo clicks the first.

  
  
To: [ NY152@Forcechat.net  
](mailto:NY152@Forcechat.net)Re: Barfing in Hide-chan

 _I think you’re the first person I’ve confessed this to, so pay close attention: I hate the smell of ramen._ _  
__  
__I’ll tell you why: it reminds me of the smell of stale sweat._ _  
__  
__Specifically the stale sweat of a man by the ugliest of ugly-ass names: Mr._ **_Plutt_ ** _._ _  
__  
__(I know I’m breaking a rule, here. We don’t do names. But I’ll only give you his last, and he’s no longer a part of my life, so I feel it’s safe to break this one for this particular man. I mean-_ **Plutt** . _What a uniquely nasty name. And you know I’d only say as much if the man sporting the name were as impossibly ugly on the inside as he is on the outside.)_ _  
__  
__Mr._ **_Plutt_ ** _used to rule my life in most ways. I won’t get too specific (don’t want to break_ too _many rules in one go) but I will tell you that this man was never kind, to me or anyone else._ _  
__  
__And that his sweat smelled like ramen._ _  
__  
__Flash-forward several years. Plutt’s long-forgotten. I’m here, happy, and meeting a friend in that ramen place on West 53rd (know the one? If you do- disregard the following narration. For your own good.)_ _  
__  
__Soon as I walk in, a queasy spell strikes. Assuming it’s just the smell, I sit regardless._ _  
__  
__The smell, obviously, persists. I grow paler (greener). Friend looks worried. I excuse myself to the restroom, and don’t make it more than three steps from our table before my entire lunch comes up and out._ _  
__  
__(Disgusted yet? Done chatting with me? Understandable. I’ll miss you.)_ _  
__  
__Long-story short; I threw up in the Hine-chan on West 53rd because the smell of ramen reminded me of a horrible, sweaty man. People fled. My friend nearly ralphed out of sympathy. It was a mess. I cleaned it all up myself._ _  
__  
__It’s the most exciting thing to happen to me all month. Figured I’d share if only for the spectacle of it._ _  
__  
__Any spectacles_ you’d _like to share? (I beg you.)_ _  
__  
__Yours,_  
 _Barfy the Business Slayer_

  _  
_  
Kylo is breathing hard and fast. He must’ve read the email a hundred times when it’d first reached his inbox two years ago--laughing at the anecdote and thinking absolutely nothing of the name she’d dropped not once, but three _fucking_ times. _  
__  
__‘Mr. Plutt used to rule my life in most ways.’_ _  
__  
__‘[...]Never kind, to me or anyone else.’_ _  
__  
__“That man is my old foster guardian. Unkar Plutt. We’ve never gotten along.”_ _  
__  
__“Yes. He deserved it.”_ _  
__  
_There is no possible way.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
But what are the _fucking. Chances._  
  
Kylo leaps to his feet, his chair clattering back on the hardwood. Chewie rises with him, tail held still as his eyes follow Kylo treading circles in the carpet between his desk and his bed.  
  
“What are the fucking chances,” he mutters aloud.  
  
Chewie makes a half-grunt-huff, equally lost.  
  
Kylo stares back at the labradoodle with a sightless gaze.  
  
What are the fucking chances….

...That Rey _is_ Shopgirl.  
  
He and Chewie have a blank-faced staring contest for what must last a solid two minutes before Kylo remembers the second highlighted email thread.  
  
He hurls himself back into his chair to open it, realizing it's filed in his "flagged" folder--the folder where he keeps the emails from her that he re-reads the most often.   
  
He chokes. 

  
  


To: [ NY152@Forcechat.net  
](mailto:NY152@Forcechat.net) Re: 3rd Anniversary  
 _  
__I’m sorry to do this to you every year. These are my only emails you don’t directly reply to, and I vow never to fault you for it. I send them for two simple reasons._ _  
__  
__The first: I miss him terribly, as I know you do._ _  
__The second: His passing lit my path to you._ _  
__  
__Unwrapped three years ago, nearly to the day, you were his final gift to me. Every day since, I am spoiled infinitely by you; the gift of safety. Companionship. And thus, the devastating elation of being heard. All I had, all I knew be_ _fore you and Han...was **Plutt**. Before you, my world was angry. Drunk. Barren and bruising. _ _  
__  
__Han gave me a new world.  
  
_ _You've given_ _me a better one._ _  
__  
__I won't force you to grieve with me. I know you grieve in solitude--with deference and reflection. I know you still carry immense pain. And incalculable guilt. I will never insult you by pretending I can fully understand, or take these from you. But every year, I will remind you that this world we’ve created between us is_ safe _. It’s sacred. You can always find me here. I will always listen._ _  
__  
__Yours this year, the last, and the next,_ _  
__Shopgirl_  
  
  


x

  
  
The third and final highlighted email sits, open and glowing, on his desktop.  
  
It arrived in his inbox a mere hour ago.   
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
To: NY152@Forcechat.net  
Re: YGet  This !!  
  
  
 _heLLooooo_. _I m'drunk. I'm sorry. I knw it breaks one of our rules. u c_ _an hate me for it. You can stop reading rigt now. I'm gonna ke ep typing anyway,th o cus I cant stop. Im sorry.  
  
I know we ''ve dropped the occasional child  hood crumb here and ther,, . Yove been so tender with my  crumBs, and I never relisedhow important that was too me til today. Because today? to my XTreeme discomfort m,y bag of crumbs was ripped open. And and and the memories were strewn at the feet of a man I would’v Sooner handed a severed limb  
  
I would’ve preferred my crums  landed someplace more deserving. some PLacce tender.   
  
So, my lOvly NY152, here they aALLare, for you.! The rest of my bloodddy  crumbs!  
  
_ _At 4 yrrs old I was abandoned in a junkyard and left in the custody of theowner, **Plutt.** At 6?, he put me to work . At eight, 9 ,/10   I scavenged for parts in exchange forr meal s. And at 11 ,,12    1and thriseen  I gave up several of those meals in exchange for shite like soap &a lock for my door, &Aand a pillow. a pillow? At 14 i ran away, and was returned in the back of a asa cops car. At sevnteen, I ran away to N Y C ,,. filed for emancipation, and nver returned.  
  
All this is to say that? , for 13years I lived in a cold, dangerous house with a cold, dangerous foster p srent. And todayhe showed up. he SHoWed UP P!   I won’t tell u where n i wont tell you why, ,I ll jsuttell you that we were face-toface and it was so fucki ng awful. Shortly therafter, another man showed up--a man who s"making my professional li f ea _misery--a _nd can you guess what he went and did?s  
  
He _puUNCHED **PLUTT** _.  
SockeD HIM SO HARFD HE Awas KNOCKED OUT !@  
  
Im still.......im so lost. for so many reasons. The rest of which ? ican't go i>m_ _to- because I'm so drunk I'm s_ _orry._ _  
I_ _wantnothing from you. I want no pity. I want nOgentle words.  
  
I just want 2#thank you for being here'and tell you that...yes, I think we should meet, too. When? Where?  
_  
 _YOURSYOURSYOURSS,  
_ _Shopgirl_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After a long, long silence, Kylo closes his mouth and swallows. Once. And mutters, "I'm so fucked, Chew."


End file.
